


Home

by BuckytheDucky



Series: CapIM Bingo [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Shared Dreams, Small!Steve, canonical character deaths, nonpowered AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 12:49:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14832579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuckytheDucky/pseuds/BuckytheDucky
Summary: Since he was five years old, Steve has shared dreams with another boy. It's not a common thing - at least, as far as Steve knows. But as they grow up, Steve and Tony grow closer. They don't get time outside of the dreams, but Steve won't let that get in the way. All he cares about is the fact that Tony is Tony, the wonderful, eccentric, self-destructive, self-deprecating, stubborn, beautiful mess he's grown up with in his dreams. Tony ishome.





	Home

Everybody dreams. It’s a fact of life. Even babies dream while they sleep, according to some experts. So, the fact that Steve has had dreams as long as he can remember… That’s nothing new. It’s what happens inside the dreams that seems to be the cause of his ma’s worry and doctor’s wonderings.

The little boy showed up shortly after Steve turned five ー or, at least, that’s the earliest he can recall seeing the boy. He doesn’t really remember what he’d been doing when the kid appeared off to his right, but he can’t forget the way the boy’s dark curls were slicked back and shining under the hot sun or the way his bare feet in the sand looked completely out of place with the suit he was wearing, fitted perfectly to his small frame. Steve had wondered who the boy was; after all, Ma always said you only dreamed about people you’ve seen in real life, but this boy was as unfamiliar to Steve as going through one single winter without an asthma attack. Then, with the grace of a child who doesn’t _really_ want to share but was always taught to, Steve had handed over a pail and shovel, and continued working on his sandcastle.

The boy ー Tony, he’d told Steve after the third time he’d appeared in Steve’s dreams, shyly and with more tears than Steve figured telling someone your name would require ー had shown up nearly every night after that. Sometimes, Tony would be sleepy, even in the dreams, and would request that Steve take them somewhere quiet so he could rest. And Steve didn’t question it. He never really questioned Tony. Other times, it had taken all of Steve’s stamina to keep up with Tony. Thankfully, in dreams, Steve didn’t have the breathing issues like he did when he was awake. He could run and jump and play without having to reach for his inhaler, though there were a few times he woke abruptly because his physical body was having an asthma attack thanks to the excitement of his dreams. Those were the worst nights, followed by awkwardness when Tony would scoff at Steve and say _If you didn’t want to hang out with me, all you had to do was say so, Steven._ That statement eventually became more of a joke than anything.

Steve had told his ma about Tony the morning after the boys had met up in his dream for the fifth time. Ma had smiled that smile that meant she didn’t believe him, and he’d argued with her for longer than he should have, but he had to make her believe him. He had to make her know that there really was a Tony, a kid who seemed so sad and lonely but was an amazing friend. All that had gotten him was a trip to his doctor and a rotation through various other therapists and child psychologists. So he’d stopped talking about Tony, no matter how much it hurt to keep a secret from Ma. She meant well, he knew it, but… She just didn’t understand. She likely never would.

When Steve was seven ( _and a half, thank you very much,_ he’d continually remind Tony whenever Tony mentioned Steve’s age), he finally managed to show up in Tony’s dream. He’d gone to bed later than usual, since Bucky had convinced him to stay up past the time Ma went to bed, so they could sneak back into the living room and watch some scary movie, so when he slipped into REM sleep, the darkness behind his eyelids slowly gave way to a thin strip of light. He could see shadows moving past, hear the sounds of hard soles of shoes against stone, and he realised that the soft glow came from a hallway and he was in a room. With a deep breath meant to calm himself down, he stared around the room, straining his eyes to see _anything_ in the dark. It took a moment, but then he heard a quiet sniffle and took a step towards the noise. Wet breathing echoed slightly, leading him further into the room. His thighs collided with something firm yet yielding ー a mattress.

“Who’s-who’s there?” a voice thick with tears whispered, and Steve halted.

“Tony?”

“Steve?”

Steve clambered up onto the bed, crawled across the surface until his head hit something hard with an audible thump. Tony clung to his knee, hissing in pain, then the boys sat together for a while until, without warning, the scenery changed and they were in a bright garden, full of colourful flowers and buzzing bees and flittering butterflies. Tony plopped onto a bench, patted the seat beside him, and waited until Steve sat down, to relax. They spent the next however long watching insects floating from flower to flower, the sun beaming down and warming their little area. Neither boy minded they were in their pyjamas, though Tony’s were much more expensive and uncomfortable-looking than Steve’s. They usually were.

… … … … 

Now Steve is fourteen and Tony is barely fifteen and it’s been nine years since they first met, and no one knows about their dreams. Steve doesn’t ask if Tony’s ever told his parents; they don’t talk about their lives outside of the dreams much. It keeps Tony from being so angry and jaded for being so damn young, and all Steve wants, has ever wanted, is for Tony to be happy. Or, at least, as close to happy as is possible for the younger boy.

This dream is set in an enormous studio apartment, one that Steve had drawn after seeing it in a magazine ー roomy with large, floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook an ocean and let in so much sunlight, it’s like there are no roofs or walls to block out the outdoors. There’s no furniture beyond an oversized bean-bag chair, but that’s okay, they don’t need it. Tony has his mechanics books, and Steve is content with sketching the scenery with the warmth of Tony by his side. They’ve spent so much time together the past nine years, they rarely need to speak any more. Instead, they just know what the other is feeling. Most of the time. Sometimes, Tony's a closed book, the scenery around them changing rapidly and his expression blank even as Steve tries his damnedest to get Tony to open up. Other times, Steve is lost in himself, stuck in freezing rain with Tony shivering next to him, but he can't stop the thoughts swirling around in his brain, he can't force them to a new location ー somewhere bright and warm, away from storm clouds and grey skies and a bone-deep cold that lingers even after Steve wakes. But here, in this apartment, it feels more like home than anywhere else Steve has ever been, inside and out of the dreams.

Tony's head rolls on his neck, and he smiles over at Steve. “You really like this place, don't ya?”

“Yeah, it's… It's a good place.”

“It needs more.”

“More what?”

“Stuff. Seriously, Steve, we have the ability to have _anything_ , and all you care about bringing in is a sketchpad and books and bean-bag chairs.”

“Well, what do you want?”

“I wouldn't say no to coffee.”

Steve laughs and swipes at Tony; the gesture is meant to be playful, but it changes as soon as his fingers brush across the bare skin of Tony's arm, warm and solid under the touch. “You don't need coffee, Tony, you're wired up enough as it is.”

And Steve knows they're only teenagers, but this is more real than any other friendship he's ever had, and he desperately wants more. He wants to be there with Tony, outside of shared dreams, he wants more than what they have right now. Ma’s always called him a dreamer, always says he falls headlong into any plan he sets his mind to, and damn the consequences. He hasn't had experience in life, not the kind kids on TV do: He's never drank, smoked, hasn't even had a first kiss yet. But he knows, with everything in him, that no matter who comes into his life while he's awake, they'll never hold a candle to Tony.

Tony's eyes soften at the edges; he holds too much weight on his shoulders, but he refuses to let Steve help carry the load, and Steve hates it, hates not being able to lessen the burden, hates not knowing what he can do to make Tony this carefree and light-hearted outside of these few stolen hours in the night, but he loves seeing the way Tony melts a bit, becomes almost weightless with the ease of no responsibility that he's far too young for. “This is the only time I'm allowed to be me. And me wants coffee.”

“Fine, fine,” Steve concedes with a laugh, unable as ever to resist doing everything in his power to make Tony keep smiling like that.

“You look like you're constipated,” crows Tony, doubling over and cackling into his knees, but a coffeemaker is on the floor in front of them, plugged in and ready to go.

Steve can't stop staring as Tony watches the coffee drip down from the filter, the rich scent of coffee beans filling the air as it pools and fills the carafe.

… … … … 

And now he's eighteen and in college, and Tony's nineteen and already graduated. This time, they're in a dark room, sitting side by side on Tony's bed, and Tony is drunk and still in mourning though it's been exactly two years since his parents died. The anniversary of their deaths is difficult for Steve to handle, and he doesn't want to imagine what it would be like if the roles were reversed, if it was his Ma in the ground and his heart ripped from his chest. Tony’s fingernails dig into Steve's palm as they cling to each other tightly; Tony clings for comfort, and Steve clings to keep Tony here with him, selfish as always but unwilling to give up any time with Tony.

Tony's sobs are the only thing that breaks the silence. It's not often that Tony cries so openly. He learned so young that emotions are a weakness if shown, and so he's always kept his tears at bay, or at least freed them silently and when he thinks Steve isn't watching, which is absurd. Steve watches Tony so closely; he knows what that twitch in Tony's brow means, knows how to bring that soft-edged smile to Tony's lips, knows how to get rid of that haunted look in Tony's eyes. But this… Steve can't fix this kind of hurt. Tony lost his parents, and it doesn't matter how many times Tony says he wasn't close to them. It's a loss he's still struggling to recover from. So Steve just sits quietly and lets Tony lean against him, dampening his shirt with hot tears, and he runs gentle fingers through Tony's curls, something he's rarely allowed to do.

These dreams still feel like home.

… … … … 

“Steve?”

Steve looks up to see the nurse standing in the doorway to the room, her dark eyes gentle and full of compassion, and he can't let go. His fingers won't release Ma's hand. He can't. He hasn't held her hand in nearly thirteen years, not since he was ten, and he can't remember why he ever stopped. He can't recall when her hand started feeling so small in his, so frail and breakable, and he hates that he's let so many years go by without taking comfort in the feeling of her hand wrapping around his.

“Steve, the doctor needs to talk to you.”

“He ー”

“He doesn't want to disturb Miss Sarah,” she replies softly, as if she knew what he was going to say before the words could fully form.

The doctor tells him gently he needs to prepare for the inevitable, it's coming sooner than any of them would like. Sarah Rogers just isn't improving, and there's no rational reason to expect a miracle this far into the decline. Steve punches him in the mouth, feeling oddly like he's watching himself from the outside, like he's not in control of himself, and the doctor stumbles but doesn't react. Steve doesn't apologise, merely heads back down the hall and plants himself in the chair beside his ma’s bed, resuming his vigil.

He doesn't see Tony that night, because he doesn't sleep. He can't allow himself to be selfish, to give away time meant for Ma, no matter how much he loves Tony.

Ma’s gone before the sun even rises the next morning, and Steve finally understands why Tony drinks so much.

… … … … 

He's twenty-four and falling asleep in front of his easel, Ma’s thin face smiling down at him from the canvas. Tony's there on the other side, waiting with open arms, and he holds Steve close as Steve finally allows himself to fall apart. It's been a long time coming, a breakdown in the making for the last three months. The deadline for his final project before he graduates is looming nearer, and Steve has been overworking himself, living off of caffeine that messes with his heart and not enough sleep. He's destroyed seven attempts at the portrait. He just can't get the shine in her eyes quite right, and he hates how lifeless the image is, as lifeless and cold and unfeeling as Ma is in her grave, he just wants her back.

“I know, Steve, I know,” Tony whispers soothingly as he lets Steve hold tight and scream against the overwhelming surge of pain, and Steve doesn't mention that Tony's voice is thick and rough with his own hurt. “I wish she was still here, too, she would be so proud of you. I wish I could bring her back. I'd give my life if I could bring her back to you.”

“No, Iー I can't lose you, too.” Steve is choking over his words, forcing them out through shuddering breaths and sobs.

“You never will. C’mon, let it out.”

A storm rages outside of the large windows; only the occasional flicker of lightning illuminates the room, and Steve tries desperately to calm himself, to get back a semblance of control over the howling that's inside of him. But Tony's arms are warm and comforting, and the way he keeps whispering softly words that Steve can't hear over the thunder or his aching heart, brings all of Steve's emotions to the front, and he can't keep fighting them down. It’s too draining, exhausting, to not allow himself to feel something, _anything_ , beyond the cold numbness that his mother’s death has caused. He doesn’t even feel selfish right now, even though he’s leeching strength and comfort from Tony. He feels like he's at home, wrapped in security and safety.

… … … … 

The visits come less often now. Steve has noticed that, as they grow older, they have more control over when they meet, where they meet, and for how long. Instead of coming together every night once they’re asleep, Tony starts showing up every other night, and he leaves far sooner than Steve wants him to. He wants to beg Tony to stay, but he knows that Tony has a life outside of their dreams, so he keeps his words behind his teeth and tries to enjoy the little time they have.

Steve is twenty-eight, so close to being thirty, and he keeps getting hit with the pain of never hearing his Ma’s voice asking him when he’s going to settle down, maybe have some babies. She’d asked a lot during his teen years why he’d go on so many double-dates with Bucky and whatever girl was on his arm that night, but Steve would never keep up the relationship. Steve had been on the verge of reminding her of Tony, telling her how he felt about the other boy, but he knew she still wouldn’t understand. She thought he’d grown out of that phase of believing his dreams are reality, and he hadn’t wanted to disappoint her. Even though he knows his brain isn’t nearly creative enough to come up with someone as beautiful and wonderful and amazing and _smart as hell_ as Tony, he’d accepted that she would never be able to wrap her mind around the odd relationship that her son had with someone she assumed was a figment of his imagination.

But more nights of the week are spent waiting for Tony to appear, laughing an apology for being late or storming in with a twisted expression on his face and refusing to talk, than are actually spent _with_ Tony. Steve keeps the scenery as ones he knows Tony has always loved ー the beach where they first met, the garden, a spacious field of freshly-mowed grass under a navy sky full of fireworks and dotted with stars. Tony doesn't show, though. So Steve starts leaving the scenes as places he himself knows, that bring him comfort. It never feels right, not without Tony, but Steve keeps the door open for the other man. Just in case.

Four nights after Steve stands in the middle of his gallery debut, Tony finally appears. He's drunk again, but Steve's come to accept that it'll probably always be that way. Tony doesn't seem to find a problem with it, and Steve can't find a way to request that he cut back on his drinking without sounding judgemental. So he lets it go, again, and soaks in the warmth of Tony’s presence, drunk or not.

They don't do much that night, just sit in the sand on the beach. The waves lap up onto shore, over their bare toes, and the setting sun paints the sky a brilliant orange tinged on the edges with a deep purple. Birds caw out their final songs of the evening, landing in their roosts and falling silent. Nothing can be heard but the water as it flows in then ebbs, their breathing, and the soft sound of Tony's fingers scooping up sand and letting it pour from his hand.

“I'm sorry.”

Steve keeps his gaze on the horizon. Tony’s voice is quiet, his words slurring slightly, but there's something in his tone that Steve can't quite place. “Sorry for what?”

“For being drunk all the time. For being gone so much. For ever fucking up your life by crashing into your dreams.”

“Don't hafta apologise, Tony, I like you being around. You didn't fuck up my life. You made it better.” Steve pauses. “But I wouldn't say no to you not drinkin’ so much.”

Tony chokes out a laugh but doesn't say anything in response. Steve hesitates then slowly reaches over, grasps Tony's hand gently in his own. A soft smile plays on his lips when Tony merely holds tighter.

Steve wakes in his bed, the sun shining brightly through the window. He still remembers how it felt to fall asleep on the beach with Tony in his arms, held close to his chest as the waves lulled them to sleep, smelling nothing but saltwater, the faint traces of liquor, and Tony's aftershave.

… … … … 

Steve is thirty, and it's been two months since he last saw Tony. Two long months of hoping that Tony would show up but only being disappointed when he didn't. Bucky’s noticed Steve's preoccupation, has asked a few times if Steve is okay. Bucky never doubted that Steve's dreams were real, that Tony is a real person and there is an unexplained connection between Tony and Steve. And Steve is so grateful for that, he really is, but he hates it sometimes. Like right now, when Bucky knows why Steve is withdrawn, exhausted all the time, desperate for something.

“You can control when you guys meet up in the dreams, right?”

“Yeah,” sighs Steve as he puts his fork on the table, his appetite suddenly lost. Except it's not sudden at all. It's been a consistent thing over the last couple of months. “We figured out we had that control when we were about...twenty, I think. But… we've never gone this long. Something's wrong, Buck, Tony's never gone this long without showing up.”

Bucky shakes his head with a grimace, his lips thinned into a flat line. Steve knows that Bucky cares, but it's not so easy to handle when Steve's already torn up inside. The last time Tony had met up with him in the bleachers of a stadium, the baseball fans and team having already left, he'd been skittish. His face had been pale and drawn tight with ー pain, maybe, Steve doesn't know, Tony refused to talk about it, and he kept making an aborted move toward his chest, hand scrabbling the thin air millimetres away from the front of his shirt before falling to his lap. He'd rejected any touches from Steve, scooting further and further away until finally, he'd got up, said a goodbye that felt far too damn final for Steve's liking, and disappeared, leaving Steve to stare at the space where Tony had been. Now there's nothing but an echoing silence, a painful gap where Tony should be.

… … … … 

The dream ends too abruptly. Steve bites back a scream of frustration when he realises it's because he's woken up. Tony had been there, Tony was within reach, and Steve's excitement and relief had been strong enough to jerk him awake. He scrubs a hand over his face, rolls onto his side, and tries desperately to get back to Tony. But Tony's gone again, nowhere to be found in any of their shared spaces.

… … … …

“Gonna run away again?”

Steve keeps himself still as Tony nears, his shoes scraping against stone. The sketchbook Steve brought lies neglected in his lap. He'd chosen this place because of his Ma, a hidden little garden they'd found on their last trip out of the city before she'd gotten sick. There's not much there beyond grass and groups of flowers, honey bees floating from one cluster to another, their buzzing melodic on the gentle breeze.

“Didn't mean to last time.”

“Yeah?”

“I… I was so damn glad to see you again. Guess it woke me up.”

“Sorry I was gone for so long.”

“It's okay. You're here now.”

Tony sits beside Steve on the sun-warmed grass, leaning back on his hands with his face tilted toward the sky like he's not felt the sun in too long. He looks out of place, with a long-sleeved shirt under a T-shirt, but it's a good look on him. His eyes are closed, and there's a pleased little smile on his face. He has the appearance of a man who's been granted freedom from a dark, desolate prison; Steve wants to ask, needs to ask where he's been, but he can't find the words. Besides, it's not what they do. They've never asked questions about life outside of the dreams.

“It's been twenty-five years, did you know, since we first met.”

Steve swallows thickly. “Yup, quarter of a century. Longest friendship I've ever had.”

“Surely you've got some friends out ー out there?”

“I, uh, I got one, but I met him when I was ten. So, not quite as long as you and me.”

“I have friends out there, too. One, I've known since college. The other, only for the past few years, but she's amazing and puts up with my shit, so that counts for something, right?”

“Yeah, guess it does.”

“Why here?”

It's a sign of how accustomed Steve is to Tony's personality that he doesn't question the change in subject, doesn't take the inquiry as a slight against his choice of location. He concentrates, and two steaming cups of coffee appear before them. Tony cackles delightedly, takes one.

“My ma and I… We stumbled across this place before she got sick. We were gonna go back the following year, but she…”

“She died before you could.”

“Yeah.” Steve sighs and sips from his coffee cup. “I haven't been back to the actual place since. I tried once but I, I couldn't get out of the car. It just didn't feel right without her.”

Tony lets a finger brush over the skin of Steve's hand. A bee drifts lazily closer, and Steve watches as it hovers near his face before bumbling away to a bunch of wildflowers. A warm hand wraps around his; Steve smiles slightly. Tony has never initiated the hand-holding. He rarely shies away from the touching, except for when he's in those dark moods, but he's always waited for Steve to make the first move. Steve flips his hand over so that their palms are pressed together, interlacing their fingers. Tony's lips quirk in a small grin before he presses a kiss, tender and quick, to the back of Steve's hand.

… … … … 

The visits slow again, coming only once a week. Tony starts looking wrecked, in pain, and he disappears at the smallest provocation. Steve worries about him, of course he does ー Tony isn't acting like himself, and Steve is walking on eggshells to find and avoid the landmines that threaten their time together. Tony doesn't touch him any more, doesn't sit close enough for the chance.

Steve's thirty-one and still unattached to anyone in his waking life, because Tony is it for him, he's known that since he was ten, but that doesn't stop Bucky and Sam from trying to set him up with other people. Sharon was wonderful, funny and damn brilliant, and if he wasn't so hung up on Tony, he could see something happening with her, but there was nothing there, not on Steve's end. She deserves more than what Steve could give her, anyway.

He falls asleep on Bucky's sofa after a night out at the bar with friends. He knows he probably shouldn't, is aware that Tony won't be there like he's not been there for too long, but he can't help it. He finds that room, the one he'd held Tony in as the other cried when they were kids, and he waits. He sprawls across the bed, still as large and empty as it had been back then even with two kids in it, and prays desperately for Tony to arrive.

“Wow, this is a sudden change, is this how you feel all the time?”

Steve doesn't move, keeps his face pressed to the mattress. His words come out muffled and slurred, and he isn't sure if Tony can even understand him when he says, “I missed you. I always miss you. Even when you're here.”

Tony's hand is gentle in Steve's hair, brushing it back, and Steve turns his head to press his face into Tony's warm palm. Tony stares down at him with dark eyes; the bruise-purple circles under his eyes stand out prominently in the dim light, making the rest of his face seem pale, washed out, in comparison. A soft sigh escapes Tony, and he shifts to stretch out beside Steve.

“I'm sorry, I really am. I just… There's a lot going on out there, and sleeping, well, sleep isn't my best friend at the moment. I should've thought about how you felt when I didn't show, but I'm selfish by nature, Steve, and I am so sorry for that. I promise I'll try to do better.”

“No,” Steve whispers, closes his eyes against the guilt welling up. “I'm sorry. I shouldn’ be makin’ you feel bad. I know you're busy, you always are.”

“That's not helping, Steve,” Tony laughs softly, but his lips are tender on Steve's forehead, so Steve doesn't think he's really mad.

“I miss you,” he mumbles because it needs repeating again.

“I've missed you, too. Why are you drunk?”

“Because I went out with friends, and Bucky said I needed to stop moping, which I'm _not_ doing, I'm really not, I just… I miss you, and you're not here a lot, so I keep missin’ you. I hate that this is all we've got.”

“Steve ー”

“I wanna meet. Out, out there, I mean.”

“I don't think that's a good idea.”

Steve's heart clenches in his chest, and he's pretty sure it isn't the liquor that's making him want to throw up all over the expensive sheets. His hands slip and slide on the silk as he scrambles to sit up, and Tony's there, helping him up. Steve shoves him away, but drunken and still so small for his age, he's not very successful. Tony holds his hands up in surrender, though, acquiescing and not touching Steve any more.

“Why? Why can't we meet? It's been twenty, uh, twenty-six years since these dreams started, and I just, I want more. Tony, you're...you're it for me, ever since we were kids. I don't want to hafta stick to only havin’ you when we're both asleep. I wanna be where you are, _out there_ , because where you are is, it's home for me. I ain't got much, not since Ma died, but I thought I had you.”

“Steve, please listen to me. You _do_ have me, okay? I'm not saying I'm gonna stop this, whatever this is, but my life outside of these dreams, when I'm awake? It's not… It's not what you deserve, trust me. I still can't believe you haven't recognised me yet,” adds Tony with a grimace. “You deserve a happy life without drama and trauma and the bullshit I deal with every day. My life isn't calm, it's a fucking circus on the best of days, and I want to keep you safe from that. Believe me. _Trust_ me.”

Steve can't hear over the rushing in his ears, blood pounding and heart racing. He doesn't think, doesn't second-guess himself, just leans forward and presses his lips against Tony's. It's graceless, clumsy, and a sharp spike of pain lances through his mouth. His hands clutch at Tony's shoulders; he fumbles as he tries to wrap his arms around Tony's neck as something hard and round presses into his chest when he pushes closer. Tony stiffens in his grip before he jerks away. Steve's eyes burn with tears of humiliation as he stares, uncomprehending, at Tony.

“This isn't, we can't.”

“Why not?” Steve demands in a choked voice.

“Because you're drunk. I-I won't take advantage of you like this. You can say you want it now, but you could wake up and realise it wasn't what you wanted. I won't do that to you.”

And Tony looks so sad, like he's hurting just as much as Steve, so Steve resists the urge to argue. He lets his fingers wrap around Tony's hand and kisses Tony's cheek softly.

… … … …

He's nearing thirty-two when he finds Tony sitting in an office, staring out enormous windows at the city beyond. He recognises that tall tower about two blocks away, standing taller than surrounding buildings. _So he lives in New York_ , Steve thinks before he steps through the door, tapping lightly on the wood as he does so. Tony spins in his chair, nearly upending it in his surprise, and Steve smiles ruefully while Tony steadies the chair and settles in once more.

“Steve?”

“Hey. Sorry, am I interrupting?”

Tony shakes his head vehemently. “No, no, just...wasn't expecting you, that's all. Here, I mean. Wasn't expecting you here. How'd you get here? We've never had this place before.”

“I dunno how I got here, to be honest. Just thought of you while I was fallin’ asleep, and now here I am. Want me to go? Or change the location?”

“This, this is fine.” Tony gives Steve a long look with narrowed eyes, but his expression finally smooths out, and he's grinning bright and real. “So how have you been? It's been a while, I know, and I know I promised to try to do better about our visits, but ー”

“Hush, it's fine. We just saw each other a few days ago.” Steve crosses the room, sits on the edge of the desk; his feet don't touch the ground when he gets comfortable. “I just… I missed you. I'm okay. Got another gallery opening on Friday night. You could, uh, you could come if you want.”

Tony's expression flickers momentarily before he flashes a tight smile. “I can't, sorry, busy.”

Steve bites back a sigh. He's tried over the last few months to convince Tony to meet outside of their dreams, but Tony sidesteps each and every invitation with ease, like it's a dance he learned long ago and practises every day. Steve can't deny it hurts, to be so close yet so very far away from each other. His gaze shifts to the scenery outside the window, the skyscrapers touching the sky and disrupting the clouds. He turns his attention back to Tony, who's looking a lot like he wants to run from this conversation and never look back.

“Okay, that's fine. Just thought I'd extend the invitation.”

Tony seems to relax, and Steve smiles at him, turns the topic to something inane, unimportant, glad that Tony talks and talks, enough for the two of them.

… … … … 

The man behind the desk glances up from the screen. “May I help you?”

“Yeah, uh, I need to see Tony.”

“There are lots of Tonys that work here, sir. You'll have to be more specific.”

“Um, I… Okay, I’m looking for Tony Stark.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“Um, no, I don't, but trust me, he'll want to see me.”

“Sir, without an appointment, I can't let you up. Please leave.”

“I've got this, Craig.”

Steve turns to see a tall woman striding toward them in heels, her arms full of tablets and files; her golden-red hair gleams under the lights of the atrium, and the business suit she's wearing was obviously designed to demand attention and respect. Steve finds himself subconsciously straightening his back as much as he can as she nears. She still towers over him, and he forces a smile at her emotionless expression. She raises an eyebrow but shuffles her load until she can hold one manicured hand out. He shakes her hand, grimacing at how clammy his palms suddenly are.

“Hello, I'm Virginia Potts, CEO of Stark Industries. You want to see Tony, you said?”

“Uh, yeah, I do. If that's okay, I mean. If not, well, I guess I'll get over it.”

“And why do you want to see him?”

Steve glances over to see Craig leaning forward, eavesdropping. “Ma'am, would it be all right if we spoke in privacy?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

She leads him to a small café and gestures toward a seat. A barista appears to know her and what she likes, because there's a large cup of steaming coffee in front of her in less than two minutes. Ms Potts takes a sip before catching his eye.

“You have thirty seconds to explain yourself, starting now.”

“Okay.” Steve brushes his hair from his forehead with a sweaty hand. His heart is racing in his chest, pounding faster than he keep count of, but he needs this. “Um, well, I don't know how to explain how I know Tony.”

“Figure it out.”

Her words are sharp, but her voice is kind. He takes comfort in that.

“I've… I've been dreaming about Tony since I was five years old. Like, not just dreaming about him, I mean, he's in my dreams, but we're able to communicate. My ma always said it was my overactive imagination, but I don't think it was. There's no way my brain would ever have come up with someone like Tony on its own. I'm not nearly smart enough or creative enough to be able to have ever heard the kinds of things he's talked about. I'm not dumb, but… Tony's way smarter than I am, and I couldn't ever come up with an explanation as to why artificial intelligence isn't as scary as people think or the solutions to green energy like he's been telling me for the past year or two.

“I could never have made up someone so intelligent and stubborn and beautiful. I couldn't make up anything about him. And the past thirty years have been amazing because of him.”

Ms Potts stares at him without speaking for a few minutes. When she clears her throat, she's smiling tentatively. “You're Steve, then.”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Come with me.”

Seeing Tony in person, after twenty-seven years, is… Well, it's honestly overwhelming. Steve stands in the doorway and stares at the other man. To his credit, Tony seems to be taking the surprise better than Steve; he's still talking to Ms Potts about some board, the deadlines he's going to reach but it's a very unhappy concession and she should appreciate him bending over backwards to comply with her demands, telling her to buy out some shoe store but go away. Ms Potts only grins in response, her heels clicking against the floor as she passes Steve and exits the office. Finally, Tony falls silent, and he shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants. Steve clears his throat, raises a hand to wave sheepishly.

“You said it was a bad idea. I decided you didn't get to make the choice for me.”

“Steve,” whispers Tony; he swallows and lets himself fall into his chair. “How-how did you find me?”

“Well, it's not that hard when you have a few hours to kill, and when the person you're trying to find has a direct sightline to the Baxter Building. This place is the only one tall enough, on this side anyway, to see that much of the building. So, I looked at Google satellite to see what buildings were in a two-mile radius and were taller than the average building. Yours was the only one that fit both criteria.”

“So you've figured out who I am.”

“Tony, I've known who you are my entire life. I may not have known your last name or what your company did, but I've known _you_. You're Tony, the brilliant, funny, sarcastic little shit that I've grown up with in my dreams.”

“‘Little’? I'm bigger than you!”

“I have spent the last couple of decades wanting to meet you, to be with you in places that didn't occur in our heads.” Steve steps closer slowly, gazing at Tony with an unwavering intensity. “I have tried so hard to convince myself that I was okay with only getting to have you when we slept, but I'm not. I haven't been for a while. I never needed to know who your family was, how much money you have, what your life was like out here, to know that I want _you_ , no matter what you bring to the table. I'd be content if you were nothing more than a, a shop owner who catered to sexually-active pygmy goats.”

“That's...an odd and very specific profession, not gonna lie, and it's kinda creeping me out, so let's not ever mention that particular career ever again.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Fine. I won’t ever mention a shop catering to sexually-active pygmy goats.”

“You ー you literally just did, Steven.”

“Sorry. That was the last time, I swear.”

“It better be.” Tony scrubs a hand over his face. “So you’re really here.”

“I am.”

“And… You’re okay with the insanity that is my life? Because you say that now, but you don’t see it firsthand, you don’t know exactly what you’re getting yourself into, and I won’t blame you if you want to back out and pretend this never happened.”

“Would you stop? Tony, when I was doing my research into finding you, I realised which building you were in. That means I realised who you are. So, yeah, I did a little Google search on you ー nothing invasive, just what I had to look forward to ー and I know that, no matter what, I want to be here with you.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. I still can’t believe you’re really here,” Tony whispers as he brushes warm fingers across Steve’s cheek.

“I know. I keep expecting to wake up. It was really difficult to not try to find you last night, or else I’da told you all about this.”

“Well, this is a wonderful surprise.”

The kiss is better than the one they shared in the dream. There’s no alcohol clouding Steve’s mind; Tony’s lips are soft, gentle, and his beard scrapes lightly at Steve’s skin. When they part, Tony blinks a couple times before standing suddenly.

“Let’s get out of here. You wanna get out of here? Let’s go.”

Steve follows, laughing. His heart is thumping wildly in his chest, and he feels almost giddy with ecstasy as they leave the office. Workers do double-takes when Steve and Tony pass, but Tony’s attention is far from them. His hand finds Steve’s, and Steve allows him to lead the way.

The enormous mansion that greets Steve when he steps out of the limo is astounding. The lawn is clearly taken care of, lush and green and sprawling. Steve stares wide-eyed at everything as he makes his way to the front door, a step behind Tony. The door closes with a quiet snick that echoes softly in the silence of the foyer.

Tony doesn’t even stumble when he pulls Steve into his arms and starts walking backwards, their lips never parting; Steve, however, isn’t as graceful. He trips over his feet a few times until they come to a stop in a bedroom. Late afternoon light filters through dimmed windows, landing in long strips across the carpeted floor.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” murmurs Tony as he brushes his lips against Steve’s, and Steve can’t deny Tony, not after wanting this for literal years, ever since he was sixteen and lounging with Tony on the beach and realised that Tony looked really good in the setting sun. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

“You stop, and I’ll kick your ass.”

Steve leans up and swallows down Tony’s soft laugh, putting as much emotion behind the kiss as he possibly can. Tony’s fingers dig into his waist, but Steve can’t complain, he just presses closer. He grimaces and pulls away slightly when something presses, hard and cold, into his breastbone. Tony understands immediately, sighs heavily.

“Sorry, it's… It's a souvenir of my past.”

“What happened?”

Tony tells him, his words halting and full of pain, about the three and a half months they spent without seeing each other ー the demo his company had planned in Afghanistan, the abduction, the barest bit of the torture he'd endured. When he finishes speaking, he hesitates but reaches for the buttons on his shirt. Steve stops him.

“You don't have to,” he says softly, and Tony's answering smile doesn't touch his eyes.

“I do.”

The circle of bright white-blue embedded in his chest nearly blinds Steve, but he keeps staring. It's beautiful, he tells Tony so. Tony explains that it's an electromagnet, an arc reactor, keeping shrapnel from the bomb out of his heart, keeping him alive.

“It's _beautiful_ ,” repeats Steve even as he stretches up to seal his mouth to Tony's.

The kiss turns heated in seconds, and Steve lets out a low whine when Tony lifts him off his feet. The sheets that are suddenly beneath him are soft, smooth and cool, a complete contrast to how Steve is burning up from the inside out. His head swims with lust and desire; he keeps his arms wrapped around Tony, keeps them pressed together, ignores the hard circle digging into his sternum. This is so much more than what they'd had the night Steve had been drunk in his dreams, more real and just… _more_. He lifts his hips against Tony's, relishes the moan that reverberates from the other man's chest. Tony moves slowly, carefully, as he helps strip Steve of his clothes, as he removes his own, as he touches Steve with admiration and care. When Steve is crying out from sensitivity, from frustration, Tony lays on his back and gingerly lifts Steve to straddle him. Steve can't stop the gasp of pain when Tony’s cock breaches him, stretches him with a slight burning that eventually gives way to something much more pleasurable, and Steve moves over Tony, around Tony, rising and falling with an unsteady rhythm. Tony's hands are hot, solid, on Steve's waist as he assists Steve in the motions; his thighs press against the curve of Steve's ass as he snaps his hips up to meet each of Steve's thrusts.

Nothing about this is similar to when Steve lost his virginity at the age of seventeen to some girl Bucky had convinced to go on one date with Steve. That was nothing more than an inebriated pity fuck ー she'd been complaining all evening to her friend about Steve's stature, the way he was mostly distant the entire time. They had followed Bucky and Dot to a house party a few blocks away, and somehow, they'd ended up in the parents’ bedroom, fumbling on top of the blankets in the dark. She complained when they were finished about how bony he was but said _At least you're a good lay_ as if that took away the sting of her unhappy words.

But this… This is beauty and ecstasy, pleasure and love, everything good Steve has ever felt, all wrapped up and overwhelming in the best ways. His hands brace against Tony's shoulders as his thighs start trembling, aching with exertion, but he doesn't stop moving, doesn't stop impaling himself on Tony's cock. He gasps and whimpers, cries out, at each slick slide. Tony drags his palms over the top of Steve's thighs, before Steve finds himself nearly bursting into tears when fingers wrap solidly around his erection, tugging and stroking and teasing, until the pleasure builds up and explodes deep in his gut, spreads along his nerves. He opens his eyes and could almost come again just at the sight of the mess on Tony's stomach and chest, the vivid white-blue of the arc reactor interrupted by stripes of cum. Tony grins up at him, but the smile leeches away and turns to an open-mouthed, wordless shout when Steve pushes himself down with a little more force, squeezing the hard length that's currently deep inside of him. Tony shifts, pushes against Steve with strong thighs, and Steve's back hits the mattress. Tony speeds up the pace but still stares at Steve with an intensity that sends a consuming warmth through Steve.

Tony barely manages to not collapse directly on top of Steve, rolling to the side at the last minute, and they're both breathing heavily, panting and shivering. Steve turns to face Tony, ignoring the twinge in his lower back and ass, before leaning up to kiss the man. This kiss is gentle, tender, nothing like the last few kisses. Tony brushes a hand through Steve's sweat-damp hair and pulls him closer, and they both don't care about the mess between them.

Tony’s voice is hoarse, thick, when he murmurs, “Stay. Please.”

“Why would I go anywhere?” Steve asks just as softly; his fingers rest against the warm cover of the arc reactor. He imagines he can feel it humming under his hand, pulsing life into Tony.

“Because you have a life and home to get back to?”

“Tony, I've spent almost thirty years wanting more than just visits in dreams with you. Now that I have it, I'm not givin’ it up if I can help it. You've always been a constant in my life, ever since I was five. You have been the one person I trusted wholeheartedly the entire time, besides Ma and Bucky. And, well, I've known for so long that anywhere that you are? That's home to me, no matter what’s out there waiting. You're it for me. You're my home.”


End file.
